(No) Ordinary Day
If you've experienced a catastrophic life event, or major stumbling block (chances are, if you're over 30, you have. If you haven't, God bless you, and pass me some of your mojo!), you know there's no such thing as an ordinary day. Ordinary days are magic, if only for the fact you faced neither calamity nor miracle. The "no calamity" part is self-explanatory. No miracles, from where I hang, upside down at the bottom of the world, suits me just fine. When life floats on an even keel, you don't look for miracles; You seek instead to adapt to the inevitability of change.
So here, in a paua shell, is my ordinary Kiwi day, April 6th, 2011:
6:45 a.m.: Wake up atop a new electric blanket. I've been simmering on "low" for 8 hours. The nights are getting cooler as we move into autumn (they don't say "fall" here).
6:55 a.m.: I hear voices in the kitchen: Fiona and Finley, plus our flat mate, Amy, and her 4 and-a-half-year-old daughter, Blythe. Amy's making crepes and the kids are eating faster than she can cook. "I want cinnamon on mine!" says Finley
7:00 Drink coffee with soy milk and fake sugar. Eat cereal with bananas. Amy has another crepe ready and asks what I'd like on it. "Cinnamon, please."
7:10 Amy gives me the last crepe.
7:30 Pack lunches for Fiona, Finley, Blythe and I. The kids are going to school, and so am I, to volunteer in Fiona's class
7:45 Check to see if my kids are dressed. Nope. They're playing Bey Blades (a spinning top-like toy) in Fi & Finn's room. "Get dressed now!" I tell them.
8:00 Check Facebook and e-mail before getting dressed. Put on the one pair of black pants I own (nylon travel pants) and new red shirt I bought at the local Kmart. Perfect for hiking The Mount.
8:30 Ask Fiona to apply sunblock, and help Finley with his, too. Apply own sunblock from a 1 litre pump jug.
8:44 Backpacks? Check. Ukulele? Check. Drive kids to school.
8:56 Arrive at school with just minutes to spare before the bell rings. Fi & Finn scatter before I can kiss them goodbye. Oh, well, I"m returning at 10:30 to volunteer in Fiona's class.
9:10 I have plenty of time to hike The Mount before returning to school. I'm not running because that would make me too sweaty. Don't want to marinate for 2 hours afterwards, and I'm sure no one else wants that, either! Pass grazing sheep on the walk up. They've just gotten hair cuts. Apparently, they frequent the same salon as me: The one where you ask the stylist to cut 1 inch, and she whacks 4.
9:30 Stand at the top of Mt. Maunganui and take in the view: Harbor on the right, ocean on the left. Ahead, a peninsula with apartments, homes, schools, parks and stores stretches for kilometers.
Sit for 5 minutes, watch jet skis in the ocean, which is calm this morning. Walk around the top of the Mount. I haven't seen this view in awhile, have I? Wait a minute: I run this trail each week. But usually, I'm heading the other way and concentrating on not tripping. No wonder the view looks new.
10:10 Sit on a bench at the boardwalk and read the latest NZ "Woman's Day" magazine. Catch up on Prince William's impending nuptials. Feel informed.
10:30 Back to the primary school to volunteer. The "tea time" bell is ringing. Greet Fiona's teacher, Mr. Parry, and walk with him to the inner sanctum: the teacher's lounge. Grab a mug of tea and 2 crackers. Spread 1 with a thin layer of Vegemite. Surprised to find it tastes good. Talk to Mr. Parry and 2 other male teachers (only a handful of blokes teach at Fi's school). Fiona's teacher also sends his daughter to this school, even though they live in another district. "It's convenient for us, and it's a great little school. The kids are so innocent. It's a nice, slow pace of life. I've taught in Wellington and city life was different - lots of people in apartments, rushing around... My daughter goes to school with bare feet. They're like feral children here." Another teacher asks if my husband works in town. "No," I say. "He died last year." His face falls. I feel like saying, "It's okay, I live with it every day. Apologies for dropping that one on you." I nod my head instead as he says, "Sorry about that. I suppose a new environment is good." Indeed.
[To be continued...]
If you've experienced a catastrophic life event, or major stumbling block (chances are, if you're over 30, you have. If you haven't, God bless you, and pass me some of your mojo!), you know there's no such thing as an ordinary day. Ordinary days are magic, if only for the fact you faced neither calamity nor miracle. The "no calamity" part is self-explanatory. No miracles, from where I hang, upside down at the bottom of the world, suits me just fine. When life floats on an even keel, you don't look for miracles; You seek instead to adapt to the inevitability of change.
So here, in a paua shell, is my ordinary Kiwi day, April 6th, 2011:
6:45 a.m.: Wake up atop a new electric blanket. I've been simmering on "low" for 8 hours. The nights are getting cooler as we move into autumn (they don't say "fall" here).
6:55 a.m.: I hear voices in the kitchen: Fiona and Finley, plus our flat mate, Amy, and her 4 and-a-half-year-old daughter, Blythe. Amy's making crepes and the kids are eating faster than she can cook. "I want cinnamon on mine!" says Finley
7:00 Drink coffee with soy milk and fake sugar. Eat cereal with bananas. Amy has another crepe ready and asks what I'd like on it. "Cinnamon, please."
7:10 Amy gives me the last crepe.
7:30 Pack lunches for Fiona, Finley, Blythe and I. The kids are going to school, and so am I, to volunteer in Fiona's class
7:45 Check to see if my kids are dressed. Nope. They're playing Bey Blades (a spinning top-like toy) in Fi & Finn's room. "Get dressed now!" I tell them.
8:00 Check Facebook and e-mail before getting dressed. Put on the one pair of black pants I own (nylon travel pants) and new red shirt I bought at the local Kmart. Perfect for hiking The Mount.
8:30 Ask Fiona to apply sunblock, and help Finley with his, too. Apply own sunblock from a 1 litre pump jug.
8:44 Backpacks? Check. Ukulele? Check. Drive kids to school.
8:56 Arrive at school with just minutes to spare before the bell rings. Fi & Finn scatter before I can kiss them goodbye. Oh, well, I"m returning at 10:30 to volunteer in Fiona's class.
9:10 I have plenty of time to hike The Mount before returning to school. I'm not running because that would make me too sweaty. Don't want to marinate for 2 hours afterwards, and I'm sure no one else wants that, either! Pass grazing sheep on the walk up. They've just gotten hair cuts. Apparently, they frequent the same salon as me: The one where you ask the stylist to cut 1 inch, and she whacks 4.
9:30 Stand at the top of Mt. Maunganui and take in the view: Harbor on the right, ocean on the left. Ahead, a peninsula with apartments, homes, schools, parks and stores stretches for kilometers.
 |
| View from top of Mt. Maunganui (Mauao) |
Sit for 5 minutes, watch jet skis in the ocean, which is calm this morning. Walk around the top of the Mount. I haven't seen this view in awhile, have I? Wait a minute: I run this trail each week. But usually, I'm heading the other way and concentrating on not tripping. No wonder the view looks new.
10:10 Sit on a bench at the boardwalk and read the latest NZ "Woman's Day" magazine. Catch up on Prince William's impending nuptials. Feel informed.
10:30 Back to the primary school to volunteer. The "tea time" bell is ringing. Greet Fiona's teacher, Mr. Parry, and walk with him to the inner sanctum: the teacher's lounge. Grab a mug of tea and 2 crackers. Spread 1 with a thin layer of Vegemite. Surprised to find it tastes good. Talk to Mr. Parry and 2 other male teachers (only a handful of blokes teach at Fi's school). Fiona's teacher also sends his daughter to this school, even though they live in another district. "It's convenient for us, and it's a great little school. The kids are so innocent. It's a nice, slow pace of life. I've taught in Wellington and city life was different - lots of people in apartments, rushing around... My daughter goes to school with bare feet. They're like feral children here." Another teacher asks if my husband works in town. "No," I say. "He died last year." His face falls. I feel like saying, "It's okay, I live with it every day. Apologies for dropping that one on you." I nod my head instead as he says, "Sorry about that. I suppose a new environment is good." Indeed.
[To be continued...]
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